Waiting at the train station it Katowice, Poland.  A woman sits next to me with close-cropped hair.  I am hesitant to say excuse me in English, feel guilty for not knowing the words.  She speaks in broken English, living in Vienna, from Israel.  Family roots here, in Poland.  She says, I saw you this morning in Vienna.  You asked me directions then –don’t you remember, and sadly I don’t.  Sometimes I wonder how I can figure out where I am going if I don’t remember where I’ve been.  How can I make my way back again.

Krakow? I ask stupidly, pointing to the platform.  “I hope so,” is her simple answer.  We talk on the train.  Her life, not so dissimilar to mine.  I mention divorce, grown children moving far away.  Single life.  Judgment: what is your worth if you are not partnered, two by two.  Is this an American judgment?  She says, no, she feels the same.  Trying to make our way.  We exchange e-mails.  Promise to stay in touch.  We part with a hug –she has a friend meeting her; we look around: Do you see anyone?

I leave to make my way –to the taxi stand where two American boys wait, lugging their lives on their backs.  We share a taxi and the one boy says: We just came from Auschwitz.  It was awesome! It seems an odd thing to say.  I say nothing.  We move forward.